Disclaimer: I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

Amkethran

It was late afternoon, the sky a yellowing curl of parchment in the waning day though the sun still held its heat, beating down on their backs as they walked those last few miles through arid foothills, the western tail of the Marching Mountains looming before them, rich peaks of caramel in the sinking sun.

Their group had parted company with Harjit and the caravan two days ago, when the road had finally reached the great sand-sea of the Calim Desert, Harjit's caravan joining with another to begin that perilous tenday from oasis to oasis, while their own group turned east, taking the less-travelled road to Amkethran.

Fritha raised the handkerchief she'd held since noon, wiping the sweat from her lips and brow and wishing she could do as much for her back, tunic clinging unpleasantly to her slick skin, her pack all the heavier in that cloying air. She was bringing up the rear alone, the rest of the group scattered before her following Valygar and Imoen along that dusty trail, where only thorn brush and scrubby patches of bursage had found a place to grow. No one was speaking, the effort seemingly beyond them as they trudged on, intent on their path, though her own gaze was otherwise occupied, lingering on the broad shoulders just ahead of her. The skin of his neck was darker now, tanned from the many days of walking, a slight turn to his head revealing the beard that needed a good half hour before a mirror –Fritha wondered if he ever considered shaving it off completely.

Anomen had avoided her from the evening of their fight, and she herself had made no move to seek him out over the next few days, his anger at her simmering to a cool truce and they had not spoken since, her company limited to Minsc and sometimes Imoen -when the girl could pry herself from Valygar's side.

Fritha sighed, pausing to reach for her flask, her handkerchief momentarily forgotten and in her desperate lunge to catch its fall she dropped the more precious of the two, opened canteen landing at her feet, the girl unable to do more than watch as those last few mouthfuls glugged into the dust. Fritha hadn't even the energy to curse. At their head, Imoen's cry split the air.

'Is that-? I can see the monastery! We've arrived!'

Indeed they had, though Fritha could see little there that was any cause for celebration. Valygar had brought them to halt on a high bluff, a sprawling fortress just to their north, curled against the cliffs on a narrow shelf of rock, a high stone wall of the same arid brown encircling the squat towers and plain stone keeps within, while in the gully below a small settlement huddled, buildings clustered in the gully bottom and stacked against the eastern cliffs for what little shelter they could afford from the hot winds that were ever whipping up from the south, where the village trailed off before the encroaching desert.

'What's that down there,' came Imoen again, 'some sort of camp?'

A fair enough assessment, Fritha's eyes sweeping across the small encampment that was clustered on the desert's edge, the usual grubby canvas peaks interspersed with colourful hillocks of rugs, blankets and whatever else had been to hand, the ramshackle appearance leaving Fritha with the suspicion that the few Children who had managed to follow Melissan had found their refuge there.

Before them the path -well, she presumed it was such, a narrow trail that was more gravel than dust leading away to split after a few paces, one trail following the bluff around to the north to skirt the monastery walls, while the other dipped steeply down into the valley proper.

'Right,' said Fritha, now at their head as they set out once more and fighting against momentum as she moved down the slope in a staggered jog, 'we should head to the monastery first and find Meliss-'

'Ah!'

Fritha whipped back at the cry, Brieanna suddenly slumped into Anomen, the man's arms under hers and preventing her from toppling over completely. Brieanna was teetering precariously on one leg, spitting curses at the ground.

'What is it?'

'I- nothing, just my ankle -These damn sandals!'

'Can you walk?' asked Valygar. The woman was nodding, tentatively easing her foot back to the path.

'Yes, just- ah! Perhaps not.'

Fritha bit back a sigh, arm thrown to a small outcropping of rocks a little way back up the path. 'Why don't you go and wait there –it's close by and we'll come and fetch you as soon as we've secured rooms at the inn.'

Brieanna looked deeply embarrassed, trying to disengage herself from Anomen even as she wobbled.

'I- well- as you say.'

'Come, my lady,' the knight pressed gently, 'put your weight on me.'

And Fritha felt her stomach twist as he bore her off, the girl turning back to the path, flushed and very foolish.

'You all right?' murmured Imoen at her shoulder.

'Yes, I'm fine, let's go.'

The entrance was not easy to find, just a plain gate set in the high walls, though it was marked for them by other means.

'Get your hands off me! You fools, you will ruin all for which we have strived! I said unhand-!'

Melissan was struggling with two cowled men, the woman a blur of blue and red robes as she was no less than hurled from the gates to land in a heap on the path before them. Fritha slowed her pace to a casual stroll, trying to keep the smile from her voice.

'Well, if it isn't Melissan; it seems your popularity is on the ebb.'

'Fritha?' the woman cried, barely able to believe it, taking the hand Minsc offered her and struggled to her feet, 'Where have you been? I've been here almost a tenday myself and I left well after you.'

Fritha shrugged. 'We took a detour to this camp where the Tethyran army was herding all the Children.'

Melissan was agog. 'Then, they- they are free now?'

'Those that survived.'

'Well, where are they then?' she pressed eagerly, eyes sweeping the path behind her as though expecting to see a small army crest the bluff at any moment.

Fritha smiled, enjoying that rare feeling of being the one with all the answers.

'Never you mind, Melissan. I would not wish to tell you anything which would merely endanger you later, should someone try to force the information from you. Suffice to say, they are somewhere safe. What has been happening here?'

'Nothing,' the woman sighed, voice rising with the glare thrown back to the gates, 'just another succumb to the same paranoia as that fool Gromnir! The monastery here has been devoted to gathering records on the Children and Alaundo's prophesy since the Time of Troubles that they may bring about an end to the taint upon this land -their thoughts, not mine,' she assured a scowling Imoen. 'But as I continued my research and received reports from my scouts, Balthazar the leader of the order here, grew suspicious –he accused me of aiding the Bhaalspawn who are rising up in violence! I swear, this threat of war has everyone running mad! But all was not in vain, after a tenday in their libraries and reports from my scouts I have finally determined Sendai's location. She is hidden within the sprawling forests of Apagis, thirty leagues north-west of here and amassing an army with which she to march on Tethyr.'

'Oh, so there is an army amassing somewhere,' laughed Imoen, 'at least the Silver Chalice won't be disappointed.'

Melissan said nothing – perhaps she expected them to turn about and set off right there and then. Fritha smiled.

'Right, thank you, Melissan, I will be sure to act on this information in due course. Now, what do you know of Abagizal?'

'Abagizal?' the woman repeated, 'I- I don't believe I have ever heard that name before. Is he a Bhaalspawn?'

Fritha nodded slowly. 'Yes, I think he just might be, and more than that, he seems to have dragons at his beck and call. They came to the camp while I was there –it was carnage. I saw the creatures head south afterwards to the mountains. They're down here somewhere and I want to know where.'

Melissan was wringing her sleeves with the deliberate air of one who wanted to make an order sound like a suggestion.

'Fritha, I can understand your desire for retribution, but it may take me some time to find him. Sendai is a threat here and now –and I am sure to have Abagizal's whereabouts on your return.'

'No, the dragons are the greater threat here. Armies may clash on equal terms, but a dragon could destroy a whole town from the air and who knows how many he holds in his thrall.'

'She is right,' added Valygar, 'It takes time to raise an army, and longer to march it anywhere. You must supply it, direct it, sustain it. Not so with dragons.'

'Exactly; Abagizal is my next target.' Fritha smiled broadly, 'If you cannot find him, perhaps this Balthazar can…'

'As though he would deal with you,' Melissan huffed, taking her frustrations out on her dusty robes, 'he hates all the Children regardless of their motives. Well, I suppose I must go then and learn what I can of this Dragon-Lord. The monastery libraries might be closed to me now, but I have other sources. I will reassure those Children already gathered here that all is in hand and take my leave.'

Fritha nodded once. 'Good hunting, then.'

'And to you.'

And off she bustled, back up the path they had travelled, their group continuing the way down through the village and Fritha had the distinct impression they saw most of it on that short walk to the inn. Merely a hatching of dusty streets surrounded by fields of hopeful crops that were dying in the furrows, and Fritha suspected most of the village's food was brought there by trade. Such assumptions that were put in doubt, however, as the street they walked opened to an empty market square that even the faithful had seen fit to desert, a temple to Waukeen standing silent to the north, once welcoming door now barred, brightly painted frescos faded and peeling, the once fine copper bell in its tower the greenest thing for a league. And everywhere they walked, those men who looked at everything and weighed up the gold it could bring them.

'There are a lot mercs about for such a small place,' observed Imoen somewhere behind her.

'Indeed. I do not expect there will be any room at the inn.'

Valygar was likely right, but Fritha felt compelled to try anyway, leading the way across the square and along the next street, the low rumble of talk guiding her to the end where nestled at the base of the eastern cliffs, a large plain building of whitewashed plaster rose over three storeys, its many windows shuttered by the usual wicker screens, a sign, carved rather than painted against the desert winds, proclaiming The Zephyr to all who bothered to read it. And Fritha imagined most there didn't, mercenaries of every creed spilling from the darkly yawning doorway below to crowd about the tables set in the yard before it, the low wall which marked the boundary covered similarly, lines of men and the occasional battle-worn woman all sat drinking in the afternoon's heat.

An overworked maid halted them before they'd even reached the door, a tray heavy with cups both full and empty resting upon her hip, tanned face bearing more lines that her age would have suggested, worn by the air and the life there both.

'Don't bother going in if you're looking for lodgings; every room is let and sleeping about five men to each.'

Behind them two rough-looking mercenaries set twined leers upon Imoen.

'There's room for you in my bed, girl.'

'Aye, he might even let you get some sleep.'

Imoen ignored them. 'What are all these lot doing here anyway?'

The maid shrugged as best she could with a laden tray at her hip, nodding back at the bluff they'd just descended.

'Oh, him up at the monastery hired them, though don't ask me what in Hells for -all they've done since they arrived is bullied us villagers and gotten drunk. Even the owner here, Zakee, is sick of them by now.' The maid snorted bitterly, 'As if we haven't enough troubles.'

'Here woman, where's me ale?'

'I'm coming!'

Fritha sighed, turning away from her and the tavern both as the maid marched off to appease another table with their order, the girl taking a moment to run a critical frown across the barren jumble of flat-roofed peeling buildings. The monastery looked larger from down there, a presence that loomed over the village, more stern master than vigilant guardian. She gazed up at it, the high walls that could have been stone hewn from those same cliffs. A place of walls and silence, just as Candlekeep had been, but were they there to keep something out, or something in? She was not sure in either case.

'Something's not right here. '

'No,' gasped Imoen, bringing Fritha back to the street before them and the insouciant figure who was sauntering so blithely toward them, 'I can't believe it…'

Fritha could have almost laughed. So, Fates, was this a gift, a test, or something entirely different?

'Havarian.'

The man had yet to spot them, though such was hardly surprising –Amkethran did not seem the place anyone would visit by chance, Saemon still strolling towards the tavern. He looked well enough, perhaps a little older than she remember, but that could be said of all of them, Fritha stepping casually from the yard to leave the gateway unobstructed, those behind following suit, and it seemed the sailor would pass them by without even noticing, when-

'Afternoon there, captain.'

Saemon faltered, perhaps at her voice, or maybe the title, the man whipping to her, blue eyes wide with a genuine surprise, though Fritha did not miss the wary glance spared for his surroundings –that snatched moment to confirm an escape route, should one be required.

'Fritha? By the Four Winds,' he laughed, sweeping his arms wide in welcome, though he was not foolish enough to press the embrace, 'I never thought to see you here!'

'Prayed you wouldn't, more like!' snapped Imoen and Minsc looked little more impressed.

'Boo says this is not a good day for you, sailor.'

Solaufein, on the other hand, merely looked bemused. 'You all know this man?'

'Oh, yes,' smiled Fritha, 'for it was by Saemon's deceit, I came to fall so easily into Irenicus's web and lost my soul.'

'I see…'

If Saemon had been wary before, it was nothing now he had the drow's icy glare boring into him from the shadow of that deep brim, the sailor's attempts to retreat a step halted by Valygar as the man leaned pointedly on the gatepost behind.

'Come now, friends,' Saemon reasoned, falling back on that well-oiled charm, 'I know my crimes were great, but that is all past now, and though my actions were utterly despicable, all I did then was to ensure the safety of myself and my crew.'

'Your crew?' repeated Fritha coolly, 'You did not seem so concerned for them when you left them to drown two days out of Brynnlaw. Tell me, was that blade you stole worth their lives?'

Saemon swallowed dryly, all the guile gone from his face, his tone flat with bitter honesty. 'I cannot change what happened, milady, only move on from it.'

'And so you moved here,' continued Fritha, trying not to enjoy the pain that lingered about him, 'Amkethran – the mercenaries' haven.'

'Yeah, what's going in this place?' added Imoen, 'Yaga Shura kept a smaller army.'

Saemon paused, running a frown over them as though weighing up his answer.

'A lot has happened here of late, and now I see you I wonder if it is not all coming to a head. Come,' he continued, suddenly resolved and setting out northward, 'my lot are camped nearby and in the only place here not under the shadow of that monastery.'

Saemon led the way past the houses that were stacked, block upon block, against the eastern cliffs like a child's building bricks, until the cliffs curved into that northern wall, the seat for the monastery that loomed far above, that face of stone sheer and impenetrable, but for a thick black fissure that opened so innocuously before them, barely more than a man's width, Saemon stepping through it and they followed him, one by one, into the darkness.

Just inside and all instantly came to a halt to let eyes grow accustomed to the gloom after the brightness of the sun-scorched gully. Wherever they were, it was much cooler than outside, and Fritha had not realised how used to the heat she had become until that shiver rippled over her, her vision clearing to find them stood in a large cavern. It had likely been a much smaller cave once, opened by the shifting plates above and widened over the years by the people there, rough tool marks glistening on the damp walls, where lichen and mosses grew in patches, dull maps of distant lands, and somewhere echoed the splash of running water. Behind her, Solaufein's sigh; Fritha wondered if he felt homesick.

It seemed more than he would have called the place home, too, the dozen or so people scattered about the room glancing up at their arrival, though Saemon's presence enough to reassure them, and they returned to their tasks without comment, packing baskets and stacking crates as though that temple of Nature was just another large warehouse.

'Ah, Esaemon,' greeted a large man of Valygar's swarthy colouring, straightening from the dusty crate of bottles he had been counting, 'returned so soon? I thought you were going to speak to Zakee about-' he stopped, suddenly suspicious as he noticed them.

'And indeed I shall, Abdem, but I ran in a few old friends, as you see. I'll be sure talk to Zakee before the day is out though. Any tea left in the pot?'

The man nodded once, returning to his work to eye them warily, Saemon blithely ignoring him as he showed them over to where a collection of upturned boxes were ringed about a small fire, a large pot nestled in amongst the dying embers.

'So, what's going on?' pressed Imoen, as soon as all were seated and served. Saemon smiled, filling his own cup last and dumping the empty pot back on the fire, a certain weariness to the gesture.

'That, my friend, is a very broad question.'

'Then, what are you doing here, Esaemon?' clarified Fritha sharply.

'Ah, you noticed that did you, milady?' he chuckled, a sip of tea wetting his throat for the tale, 'Well, after the Gallanté sank, I eventually found myself back in Athkatla, where I gave the Shadow Thieves a revised version of events-'

'You told them we were dead!' snapped Imoen.

'-and joined another crew of smugglers –my own ship being sunk, of course. And all rolled along easily enough for a month or so, until your unanticipated return. The Shadow Thieves discovered the depths to my deceit and I was forced to leave Amn.'

'Bloodscalp aim to take the coin for our safe passage from your hide?' asked Fritha. Saemon laughed.

'That he did and quite determinedly, too -he has a bit if a soft spot for you, milady.'

Fritha just smiled, warmed by the thought.

'He put three times what I charged the Shadow Thieves on my head –my own mother would have turned me in after that, and it was no longer safe for me in Amn, or anywhere they knew me.'

'So you came here?' confirmed Valygar.

'Indeed, I did. I took a boat to Tethyr and found myself work as a guard on a caravan that ended up passing through here, and I liked it so well, I stayed.'

'You mean you finally found a rock under which the Shadow Thieves wouldn't look,' sneered Imoen. Saemon just sighed, seemingly resigned to her anger.

'I do not begrudge you your suspicions, milady, but I sincerely thought this village was a place I could find some peace. That was seven months past now, and the caravan I arrived with was the last of the trade this place saw. You may not believe it to look at it, but Amkethran was once a bustling village. As I understand it, a few years ago, they made their way through crops and keeping goats upon the hills, as many do in the Marching Mountains. But as the rains moved north and the desert crept ever closer, this way of life died. There has been a drought here for the last three years, but the people persevered and, with the help of the monastery, they continued to survive. The desert about here is dangerous, as well the monks know for they use it in their training and initiations, and the monastery offered their services as escorts and guides to those caravans wishing to cross these perilous sands under the condition they stop here to replenish their water and trade, and life in Amkethran continued on. But a few months before I arrived, the monastery began to demand a tithe for this work -and then they refused to help altogether, and the caravans stopped coming. Those who could afford to leave, did so, and the rest just remained here to rot.'

'But why suddenly stop their help?' asked Fritha.

'I was not here then, milady, but it seemed there was a change in leadership up at the monastery. The old master died and a new one rose to take his place.'

'Balthazar,' offered Minsc gravely.

'Aye, you have heard of him already? It does not surprise me. Their order may claim to be working towards some nobler goal – ending the Curse, or the like- but how does bringing an army of mercenaries here aid anyone? Then the woman, Melissan, arrived a tenday past with that ramtaggle following. I could always tell at sea when a storm was in the air– something is brewing and this wretched place is going to be the eye of it.'

Fritha leaned back on her seat, coolly appraising. 'And where do you sit in all this, Havarian?'

'Well, you will amused to hear I kept to what I know. The monastery overlooks us smugglers for the most part, as long as we pay them a tithe for what we move. There are many goods the merchants would bring from Calimshan, goods that they would prefer did not pass under the scrutinising eyes of the border patrols. We have an arrangement with such men, collecting goods from agreed places in the desert, along with our payment in food which we can trade to the villagers here, while this other merchandise is sent on its way with couriers over the mountains into Tethyr.'

'Oh, listen to him,' laughed Imoen, 'he's a regular Ilmateran.'

'Look, I know you have no reason to believe me, milady, but I do regret what happened. I would not have even gone through with it at all once I discovered what that mage and his sister were all about, but once I was in with them there was only one way out of it. And look at it this way, you two got through all right in the end.'

Imoen looked furious at the mere suggestion.

'You're tempting another broken nose, Havarian,' warned Fritha.

'All right, all right,' the man appeased quickly, 'look, I can't change what I did, but I choose my masters with a lot more care nowadays and I'm trying to make amends as I can. Here, I've got to go, but Cassin will sort you out with supplies if you need them, and at a good price, too. And if you need anywhere to throw down your bed roll then you are welcome here. Here, Cassin,' he called into the cave behind them, a short Calimshite man glancing up from his work, 'a good rate for this lot should they want to trade.'

He turned back in time to see Fritha's nod. 'Thank you, Saemon.'

The man just returned the gesture, making to his feet to prompt them to the same.

'You lot be careful, and if you hear anything you think will be of use, send it our way –knowledge holds it's value like gold round here.'

He did not linger for anymore goodbyes, the man leaving them then, marching back to the cavern mouth to be lost to the glare.

Anomen and Brieanna were just where they had left them, the pair sat side by said upon a large flat stone that had toppled from the cliffs behind innumerable years before, the man kindly offering the woman his flask at the moment they crested the slope, which she waved away with very fixed smile; Fritha did not bother with usual, meaningless greetings.

'There's no room at the inn, come on, we can make camp with the other Bhaalspawn –we'll explain why on the way.'

And slowly, for Brieanna was still limping, the group made their back through the village, heading south to the desert's edge and the camp that was clustered at the diminishing foot of the western cliffs, where the bluff they had arrived on curved around to gradually slope down into the endless sands. Fritha brought them to a halt a few yards from the camp proper, their arrival generating some interest, heads peeking from tents as they pitched their own. Imoen uprooted a dead gorse bush for kindling, and but a few moments later the were settled about a small fire that they had built more from habit than any need, the hot winds making the canvas about them ripple and flap.

'So,' considered Anomen gravely and with more than a little disapproval, as Imoen and Valygar between them finished their tale, 'we merely plan to wait here until Melissan tells us where this Abagizal might be found, and all the while Sendai raises her army?'

Fritha frowned –well, at least he was making this easy.

'Of course not. I just told Melissan that because I had the distinct impression she would put a whole lot more effort into her search for the Abagizal, if she didn't think I would do anything else. We will wait here until Jaheira arrives back – if Melissan returns with Abagizal whereabouts before then, we will set out for him and leave a message here for Jaheira telling her so. If Jaheira arrives before news of Abagizal, we will leave for Sendai.'

'Still trusting in the Fates to lead you?' the knight offered quietly. Fritha just snorted.

'They've yet to lead me wrong.'

'And until then, we must just wait here?' Anomen sighed, giving the fire a frustrated stab and throwing the last gorse branch on, 'Sendai's army could be on the move before we have even found this Dragon-Lord.'

'Whereas these dragons haven't done a thing yet which would indicate they pose a more immediate threat- oh, wait.'

'I do not deserve your scorn, Fritha.'

'Well, I don't need your doubts!'

'Ah, forgive my interruption,' faltered a voice above them, Fritha turning with the others to find a youth of her own age stood on the edge of their camp and looking as though he was trying not to fidget, a hand nervously smoothing the untidy crop of blond hair, his tanned face still bearing the glow across his nose and forehead from where the sunburn was fading. He took a tentative step forward, pale brown robes leaving interesting trails in the dust, 'Ah, Fritha, is it not?'

'Yes, what of it?'

The man blinked, as though considering whether he did, indeed, want to answer her, his throat bobbing to continue, 'Ah, nothing, merely I am Lukyle, a sort headman for the Children here, as much as we have one -Melissan told us you would likely be about.'

'And I don't suppose she bothered to name the rest of us?' inquired Imoen. 'Thought not,' she chirruped at the mute shake of his head, the girl blithely rattling off the introductions and offering him the place beside her to continue, 'So what is it you do here, Lukyle?'

'Well, nothing really,' he offered, dropping into a crouch next to her, 'just take reports from the scouts when the Lady Melissan is away and keep the rest of the camp in order.' He smiled, bolstered by his own words, 'I used to serve as cleric to the mayor's office in Greenest before my condition became known. If any have problems, they know to come to me.'

'But Melissan is not here now?' confirmed Brieanna. Lukyle shook his head.

'No, m'lady, she has already left on her own business. I believe she is attempting to contact a few of the monks here who dare defy their new leader. I understand many of them are displeased with the way Balthazar runs matters, not least his treatment of the villagers, though most monks are too loyal to offer any dissent.'

'I can't imagine what that would be like,' muttered Fritha. Perhaps Lukyle sensed the dissent among them, the man hastening to stand once more.

'Well, I merely came to bid you welcome. There is an old well the villagers used to use for irrigation just up on the bluff there, and the smugglers have food to trade if you've the coin for it –you can usually find a few of them gathered on the edge of the market square. You need anything else, those in the camp all know me, so, ah, just ask.'

'He seemed friendly enough,' offered Imoen at his quickly retreating back. Minsc followed her gaze with a frown.

'Indeed, for a man so poorly welcomed. Boo says hospitality is all men's duty; you should have set him more at ease, young Fritha.'

Fritha sighed, heaving herself to her feet before the energy to do so deserted her completely. 'Yes, well, I might go and see about some water. Pass me the flasks, Minsc.'

The Rashemi did as he was bade, passing her the two large boiled leather flasks that held their water rations between the springs and streams which were all too rare in those lands, warnings they would be heavy when full falling on deaf ears as she gathered up the group's collection of canteens and left the camp to walk the short distance up the bluff behind them.

A few moments to climb the dusty path, and she was stood on the same cliffs they had arrived on but hours before, albeit more towards its southern end. The sun was low now, casting long shadows into the gully below her, a brimming pool of gloom where beneath a lost village, long ago submerged by rising waters, slept in cool sanctuary. She was almost temped to dive in.

Fritha hauled off her tunic, using the balled cloth to take the lingering dampness from her arms and neck as the warm dusk air did the same for her thin camisole. Should life really be this hard, where war loomed ever over her and all her decisions seemed able to determine was when she hurt those she cared for? Looking on the brighter side though, if her life continued to prove this miserable, come the end, she might not be so loathed to leave it.

The well was old and, before the Children had arrived, likely unused since the drought began and Amkethran exchanged farming for trade, just a simple wooden frame erected over a rough hole a couple of yards across, a wooden pulley hanging over it, while a notched post in the earth at her feet provided a place to hitch the rope. The years had not been so kind to other parts though, the leather bucket that she hauled from the darkness degraded and malleable after so long left in the water and care had to be taken when pouring -something she realised after half the first bucketful ended up slopped, rather refreshingly, over her sandaled feet.

It was slow, hard work, the old well bored deep into the bedrock, and for a time the only sounds were the squeak of the pulley and the pant of her breathing, until the rasp of feet on gravel joined her song and Fritha paused to watch his approach. He did not greet her, turning instead to look over gully as she had, and she wondered for a moment how he saw that world of light.

'So, it is as you wanted –Anomen hardly looks at you now.'

Fritha sighed, the ache in her shoulders matching the one under her ribs.

'Yes… Here, come here,' she beckoned, closing her arms about his lean frame, her voice muffled against his shoulder. 'Don't be cross with me, Solaufein. Of any of them, I can't bear to have you cross with me.'

The two hands placed gently on her back confirmed her forgiveness.

'I am not angry with you, Fritha, I merely…'

'I know,' she sighed, pulling back to let her eyes search that striking face, as though she would commit every fine angle and smooth plane to memory, 'you spent a lifetime keeping secrets and watching what you say, and you finally thought it behind you –and it will be soon. For what it is worth, I am sorry.'

'I do not require an apology.'

Fritha dipped her face to this subtle reproach.

'Unlike someone else, you mean? I didn't want to do it like this, but he's not the sort of man who takes a hint. I tried for so long to distance myself from him, but he wouldn't have it, and then I would forget…' And again she felt that warmth in her stomach bloom, recalling the easy laughter that had held the promise of something deeper. She pushed it away. 'And then he asked me outright –what else could I have said? We needed this. And I will tell the others, I promise, I'm just still trying to get things straight in myself first. I need to be firm, be ready when I tell them, because I know what they'll be like and I can't stand there listening to them all desperately debating a way to save me and have that glimmer of hope spark again. I need to be sure, and then they can know. Look at this place,' she sighed, turning her gaze over the village below, the windows dark in the deepening dusk, hollow black eyes into those soulless buildings, 'a wretched dustbowl with more than enough troubles of its own. Why are we here?'

'The village likely sprang up because of the monastery; ironic that the thing that once afforded it protection, now puts the place in danger.'

Fritha sighed, settling her head upon his shoulder once more. 'Because of us, the Children. Bringers of destruction; harbingers of Murder; tainted; cursed; me.'

Heavy footfalls on the path behind them. Fritha drew a breath, letting the earthy scent of Solaufein's presence bolster her and turning back in time to watch Anomen's slow ascent.

'I came to see if you required any help with the water. Brieanna wishes to begin cooking.'

'Ah, no,' Fritha faltered, suddenly guilty she had been neglecting her duties and tossing the bucket back into depth with a echoing splash, 'I'll just be a moment.'

'Here,' offered Solaufein, stooping for the only flask she'd filled, 'I will return with the first.'

Fritha nodded, turning back to the well as he set off down the path, the girl hauling on her tunic to set her back to the rope, Anomen left impassive spectator.

'It is slow work, I see.'

'Yes.'

The man said nothing more, just watched her work in silence and she did not think he would speak again when-

'I am sorry for my manner before. I did not mean to fault your plans, it is merely the waiting I cannot bear. I worry by the time we know our part in this, it will be too late.'

'I'm sorry, too,' she huffed breathlessly, the sweat stinging her eyes. 'You have every right to say if you're uncertain. Everyone has a voice in this group.'

One last heave brought the bucket from the hole, Fritha quickly tying off the rope, her haste making her clumsy as she struggled to catch the swinging pail.

'Here,' Anomen offered, reaching over to set it neatly at her feet, each avoiding the other's gaze.

'Thanks.'

'Fritha… I understand much has passed between us, but I would have us remain friends, if it is possible.'

She swallowed, a hand tightening about the thick leather handle. 'I would like that.'

A sigh above her, his voice softer as he pressed, 'I said once I have faith in you, and whatever happens, Fritha, I always will. Nothing can change that.'

Fritha did not look up – she couldn't.

'Thank you, Anomen.'

'Well, I should return to the others.'

He turned away with a rattle of armour, Fritha suddenly filled with one last desperate bid to make all right between them.

'I'm sorry, Anomen, how things have turned out. I really would like for us to be friends.'

Another silent nod, blue eyes gazing impassively down at her, and he was turned and continuing down the path, pulling away from her with long, easy strides.

They both said they wished to be friends, but such empty words could not mend the gap between them, and Fritha did not think now that anything would. She rubbed a hand along her sternum, trying to ease the ache within.

I have faith in you –Loviatar's Black Heart, that man could twist the knife.

After such efforts, the water was too precious to waste, her hands steady as she poured her latest offering into the waiting flask, the drip of the few tears she allowed herself rippling the surface and she stayed crouched there until they had subsided completely, the girl once more setting her weight to the rope, and the second flask was only a few more buckets from being filled when that voice halted her.

'Fritha?'

Fritha sighed, emptying the last few drops into the flask, ready with her greeting even before she'd turned to her.

'Hey, Imoen, something wrong?'

The girl grinned, skipping the last few steps to encircle a friendly arm about her elbow.

'No, but when Anomen arrived back without you, I realised he hadn't actually come up here to spare your back, so I thought I'd best come lend you a hand myself.'

Fritha laughed weakly, amused in spite of herself. 'Chivalry is truly dead.'

'But you're all right?' the girl pressed, the arm about her tightening. Fritha gently shrugged her off, hidden in the pretence of stooping for the battered leather bucket.

'Yes, I'm fine, and nearly finished here, too. But I meant to ask before, how are you? Have the dreams started again?'

'Yeah,' Imoen sighed, turning from her to gaze unseeing over the barren village, 'they began a couple of days ago, though they don't make much sense at the moment–maybe they're just dreams this time.'

Fritha nodded, stretching her aching arms. 'I heard you cry out last night when I was on watch -though I didn't dare come to see why now you're sharing with Valygar.'

A round of debauched laughter.

'Fritha, I swear, you're worse than me!'

Fritha just laughed, bucket discarded as she grabbed her hands to spin her round.

'Never!

'What's got into you of late?' gasped Imoen, released at last, a hand to her head in her dizziness, 'You used to mope around in a near constant mood.'

'Ah, there's no time for that now,' Fritha dismissed easily, 'You fancy a walk out to the tavern this evening?'

'Another night on the drink; you'll be able to bottle your blood for sailors soon.'

'I'm hardly that bad – so are you coming?'

Imoen chewed her lip ponderously. 'Is everyone going?' 'I don't know, I haven't asked them yet.'

'Well, maybe if everyone's going, me and Vals can stay here -keep an eye on the camp.'

Fritha snorted –they'd be lucky not to come back to the place picked clean. She stooped again for the bucket.

'Passing up the tavern for an evening with the swain. Ah, young love; I hope its not catching. Here, hold that, you can help me fill the smaller ones.'